


Gauntlet

by LittlestMac



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: M/M, Original Daedric artifact, POV First Person, Skyrim Main Quest, disabled main character, he has really bad anxiety and is missing a hand
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 04:56:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19192252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittlestMac/pseuds/LittlestMac
Summary: Yamak the orc learns that his work for Clavicus Vile had unintended side effects.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I write this in my spare time so updates may be erratic. No beta as of yet, so all mistakes are my own.

"So... Who are you? And why," I pause, searching for any hint of emotion on this being's face and finding none, "do you have horns?"

"You are the one who summoned me, mortal."

That can't be right. I'm a cleric who specializes in disease and healing magic. I've never summoned anything, let alone a six-and-a-half foot tall dremora (?) with horns that add another half foot. 

"But I didn't summon you. I was trying to cast a spell to patch up my knee where I skinned it."

The creature visibly startles, saying, "Its not like I had any say in it, mortal. I simply come when I am called. You must have meant to summon me, because no one summons a Skaafin on accident."

Skaafin, skaafin... I know that word, but from where?

As I'm pondering, I don't notice the creature getting close until he's kneeling in the dirt before me.

Jumping back, I trip over the bow of the bandit archer who had had the misfortune of fighting me, sending me flat onto my ass.

"Oof. That hurt, man! Why in the hell did you sneak up on me?"

Cocking it's (his?) head at me, I catch a glimpse of a smirk before he answers. 

"I do not know if 'sneaking up on' is correct, mortal. I slowly walked to you so I could tend to your wound. It is not my fault that a fearsome orc such as yourself is more easily startled than a kit."

Great. I've known this being for less than five minutes and I've already made a complete fool of myself. Way to go, Yamak, I'm sure Mom and Dad would be proud!

What's this thing's name, anyway? For that matter do dremora even HAVE names? I feel incredibly rude for just assuming they don't.

Shit.

"Listen, um, skaafin guy. Do you have a name or something? I feel weird just addressing you as 'man'."

Silence. Great. Is it rude to ask without introducing myself? I wonder if it's too late to just pretend to have a heart attack and die because it sure beats having a really big skaafin look at me like I just told him that the sky is currently bright green. I can fix this though, I'm sure of it. 

"Yamak, master restoration wizard and champion of Lord Clavicus Vile, at your service. Well, not at *your* service, I guess because I summoned you whether I meant to or not..." I trail off, realizing that my usual charm is probably not coming through at the moment as my knee is bleeding through my robes and I'm still on my ass next to a dead body.

Mentioning Clavicus Vile seemed to get a reaction, at least. His eyes are wide, the smirk that was lingering on his face is now a carefully neutral mask.

"Forgive my rudeness, Champion. I did not realize you were a vessel for my Lord's power. How may I serve you?"

Vessel of his Lord's power? What the hell does that mean? I did help Clavicus six months ago with getting his dog Barbas back, but he just repayed me by... Wait...

Raising my right arm up, I pull back the sleeves of my robes. Beneath them is a seemingly normal ebony gauntlet with some faded runes inscribed on the inner palm. Clavicus Vile rewarded the work I had done by replacing my missing hand with this gauntlet. I'd assumed it was at least slightly magical because it felt like my hand used to before I lost it fighting some vampires a few years back for the Dawnguard, but it being a Daedric artifact hadn't crossed my mind.

I realize that he's still waiting for an answer. 

"Oh! I'm fine. Please just forget that this happened, okay? I'm sorry for summoning you!" I tack on the last bit as an afterthought. It feels rude to summon someone, intentionally or not, without a task in mind. 

"As you wish, Champion. I shall return to my Lord. Oh," he pauses, and seems to be debating something. 

"My name is Joferva," he says finally, almost under his breath.

With that, he disappears in a swirling purple cloud of energy and I am alone once again.

Well... Joferva, huh? A fitting name, I suppose, not that I'm particularly well versed in Skaafin naming etiquette.

As I go to stand up, I realize that my knee is completely healed. Joferva must have done that without me noticing, which is extraordinarily difficult for even a healer of my caliber to do.

Walking back to Whiterun, I can't get the encounter with Joferva out of my head. I have fought countless dremora in my day, but I've never encountered one who seemed so well spoken and... Maybe not 'nice' so much as courteous. I wonder if I'll ever see him again, and when. Not much use agonizing over it, so I guess I'll have to focus on my current task: bringing this mammoth tusk back to Ysolda, then helping Danica Pure-Spring with some trouble I heard about through the grapevine.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This and next chapter are flashbacks

I don't really know how this all started. 

One day, I was just minding my business, trying to get to Skyrim (actually I was trying to get to the College of Winterhold to finish my restoration training, but that's still in Skyrim so kind of a moot point) when I got captured trying to cross the border. Which is totally bullshit because I had all the official documentation. That set off a chain of events that took over three years to finish, and I will carry the scars on my body and soul for the rest of my days.

In the beginning I wasn't strong enough, or fast enough, or just... enough of anything. A lot of good people died because of my incompetence, and I will never let myself forget that.

But something changed at the Western Watchtower. A dragon of legend appeared and we somehow defeat it. Absorbing the soul of it... Awakened something within me. I grew stronger, and faster, and then suddenly I WAS enough. 

More than enough. 

Too much.

At first it was subtle; too hard a hit with my mace, too eager for my next fight. 

As days turned to weeks, to months, to years, my bloodlust and hunger for power grew with every dragon soul I absorbed. After Alduin I reached my breaking point.

I was in Windhelm, collecting a bounty on a dragon that had been harassing travelers. I was heading to Candlehearth Hall to spend the night before heading out in the morning when I heard a muffled cry of pain from a nearby alley. Deciding to stick my nose into others' business is my specialty, so I had decided to check it out. 

If nothing else, know this: I'm not sorry for what I did.

Rolff Stone-Fist was standing over the curled up body of Suvaris, kicking her in the back and head. I couldn't tell if she was even breathing.

"What the hell is going on! Hey!" Rolff didn't seem to notice who was talking, barely glancing at me before going back to assaulting Suvaris.

Infusing my voice with the thu'um, I roared "GET AWAY FROM HER!"

That certainly got his attention. My voice was a wave of force, nearly knocking him off his feet, bouncing and echoing through the entire city. I didn't care who heard me, not now. He was assaulting an innocent person and I wanted him, hell I wanted the entire CITY, to know that he wasn't getting away with it.

"D-dragonborn! It isn't what it looks like!" He took a step back, eyes franticly looking for some escape from my wrath.

"Don't. Move. I will kill you before you can turn around if you try to run," my voice waa glacial, causing Rolff to freeze in place. "Are we clear?"

"Yes, Dragonborn."

Making sure he wasn't about to make a dash for it, I slowly walked over to Suvaris, keeping my eyes trained on Rolff.

She was pretty bad off; her breathing was slow and labored, she was bleeding from multiple places up her back and neck, but her eyes were clear and focused on me.

"I'm going to heal you. It's going to hurt quite a bit at first because your bones have to knit themselves back together. You'll be dizzy for a bit because magic can't really heal blood loss. I'll take care of you, okay?"

Taking a shuddering, wet breath, Suvaris nodded.

Healing magic is... odd. I'm not sure if it's like this for every mage, but for me restoration uses a small amount of my life force in order to properly heal someone else. As the Dragonborn, I have a lot of it, bolstered by all of the dragon souls I've absorbed. It can also tell you what's wrong with someone once you've learned to channel it correctly. Suvaris had a lot of internal bleeding and a collapsed lung, along with a hemorrhage in her brain. She wasn't going to make it because some racist had a bone to pick and she was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and it wasn't fair.

So I made it fair.

I poured the life force of an entire dragon into my spell.


End file.
